


we might've started singing just a little soon

by theformerone



Series: tumblr porn prompts [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Closet Sex, Drunk Sex, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theformerone/pseuds/theformerone
Summary: “I didn’t ask to get mauled,” he drawls. Tobirama looks up at him, his grey eyelashes fanning out prettily over his cheeks. His red eyes are bright and hardly unfocused considering how much he’s had to drink tonight.for prompt “You’re either leaving here with a black eye or a hickey. Your choice.”





	we might've started singing just a little soon

“Shit,” Madara says, stumbling over Tobirama’s feet. The door shuts with a snap behind them and Madara’s hand fumbles to make sure the door doesn’t swing back open. “Fuck, damnit,  _fuck_.”

“Can you be quiet for two seconds?”

Madara humphs, even as he pushes Tobirama back. He lays his mouth on the pale lines of Tobirama’s throat, sucking fiercely at the bright red tattoos that swirl beneath the collar of his shirt.

“No,” Madara mumbles around the slim piece of Tobirama’s skin between his teeth. 

His brain is fogged from the soju and the sake, and he doesn’t know why he thought it was a good idea to get into a drinking contest with an Uzumaki. Hashirama was a lightweight but his wife was all sorts of terrifying when she got a cup in her hand. 

Tobirama’s hands slip down into the waist of Madara’s pants to palm at his cock. Madara sighs out a little,  _“Ah,”_ bucking up into his touch. 

“Could you - ,” he says, dragging his mouth up Tobirama’s throat to kiss the skin below his ear, “at least  _spit_  on your hand?”

Tobirama grunts and thumbs the slit of Madara’s cock, dragging sluggish beads of precum down the length of it. Madara groans and he can feel Tobirama smirk where he buries his face in Madara’s shoulder. 

“No,” Tobirama quips. Madara rolls his eyes, turns his face and pulls his mouth across Tobirama’s cheek until he finds Tobirama’s mouth. 

He tastes like wine, the cheap sugary kind that only the Senju drink because their massive fucking vineyards and orchards and whatever else make it. He’s easy to get drunk, easier than his brother, and he’s a damned klutz when inebriated. 

“Give me your hand,” Madara says into Tobirama’s mouth. Tobirama hums, drags his dry hand in a rough pull from the base up and Madara would hit him if it wasn’t just shy of too much. 

Then Tobirama’s hand is gone but his elbow jerks up hard, nearly clips Madara in the chin. He jerks his head back hard. Tobirama’s face is flushed, his lips pink and wet, and Madara would brain him against the shelf behind his head if he didn’t look so good. 

“You’re a goddamn disaster,” Madara murmurs. Tobirama scoffs and tugs down his own pants, freeing his hard cock. “This is how you’re gonna kill me? Elbowing me in the face?”

Tobirama rolls his eyes. He drags Madara in by the throat with one hand, wraps his long tapered fingers around both their cocks with the other. 

“You’re either leaving here with a black eye or a hickey,” he says, screwing his teeth in tight to the sensitive skin near Madara’s collarbone. “Your choice.”

He tries to snort, but Tobirama’s grip is tight and his cock is skin soft. His forehead falls forward, rests where there’s a bare amount of sweat on Tobirama’s shoulder where his sleeve has slipped. He watches the slide of Tobirama’s foreskin down over the head of his cock, and where it peeks out, it’s glistening. 

Madara groans, buries the sound when he closes his mouth against Tobirama’s shoulder. 

“I’ll take the hickey, thanks.” 

Everything’s just a touch too hazy, his cheeks ruddy from liquor, and his groan curls low in his throat as Tobirama tugs at the both of them. He pays more attention to Madara’s cock than his own, his blunt nails tracing veins and stroking hard as his teeth work on Madara’s throat. 

“I said a hickey,” Madara hisses, “not a goddamn wound.”

Tobirama rocks his hips up, his cock sliding against Madara’s in his hand. Madara lets out another sound, and it must annoy Tobirama because the tight hand on Madara’s throat fists in Madara’s dark hair, turns his face so Tobirama can kiss him. He catches Madara’s bottom lip between his teeth, and Madara keens. Tobirama’s hand is tight as he works them both over and his teeth are too sharp into Madara’s lip and Madara is groaning, eyes screwed shut. 

He feels Tobirama stiffen up first, feels his control spasm for a second long enough to break the skin on Madara’s lip. He spills onto the both of them, and Madara’s eyes slip open just so he can see Tobirama shudder. Then his own orgasm shakes him him down, nearly makes his knees buckle as it hits him and the liquor at the same time. 

They’re a sticky mess, and they won’t be able to get out of the closet and into Tobirama’s private apartments without being seen. Even though everyone is drunk, he’s sure they still won’t be able to live this down. 

Madara lifts the back of his hand to his mouth to assess the damage. His lip is tender, but the wound isn’t bad, just a little cut on the soft skin inside his lip. 

“I didn’t ask to get mauled,” he drawls. Tobirama looks up at him, his grey eyelashes fanning out prettily over his cheeks. His red eyes are bright and hardly unfocused considering how much he’s had to drink tonight. 

Tobirama lifts his hand and licks at the stripes of cum that have spilled over his fingers. 

“I can still give you that black eye if you want.”

Madara laughs, low and quiet, then drops his hands down around Tobirama’s waist. It’s easy to pull him up, and Tobirama follows his lead, wrapping his legs around Madara’s waist. They’re both half hard and sensitive when they rub against each other and Tobirama hisses. Madara chases the sound, pressing his lips over Tobirama’s in an easy slide. He crosses the space of the closet floor in two steps and pins Tobirama against it with the weight of his body. 

“No,” he says, smirking as he deftly tugs at the leg of Tobirama’s pants, just enough to expose his ass to the breath warm air of the closet. “I don’t think you can.”


End file.
